


Broken

by Counting_the_stars



Category: One Direction
Genre: 1d, ALL THE FANDOMS, Angst, Betrayal, Cheating, Depression, Emotional, F/M, Hospital, Hurt, I suppose it could go into any fandom, Jealousy, Love, Pain, This isn't really one direction related, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Counting_the_stars/pseuds/Counting_the_stars
Summary: This is the first piece that I ever wrote and it sits very close to me because of that.There are things that I would re-write in it, but, as it's my first piece... I'm still kind of proud of it and don't want to change it.It's broken, it's building yourself back up, it's putting the pieces back together, it's wondering how you are meant to keep going and who you really are when everything falls down around you. It's the end of all things and the start.





	Broken

You wanted to hate him. You wanted to destroy him the way he destroyed you, but every time you looked into his eyes, every time he smiled at you your resolve lessened. He was tearing you up inside and he had no idea. Every time he left the house the panic started, spreading from within your chest, crumpling you to the floor, barely able to breathe. He would come home, his neck smelling of her, lips slightly stained and you would smile as if nothing had happened, that you hadn’t fallen apart the moment he left, that you hadn’t smashed some of your engagement china just trying to express the pain that you were feeling inside, trying to somehow let it out of your fingertips. The broken china an expression of everything that was going on inside you. Your mind was fragmented, your heart was splintered. He’d ask you what happened and you would laugh lightly saying how clumsy you were and he would wrap you up in his strong arms and you would smell her and your body would convulse away from the smell. But he would only see the smile on your lips and not see the dead behind your eyes. That night as he slept you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long it would be before you would completely break.

This wasn’t healthy, you knew that, but the engagement meant a commitment to each other forever. How could he disregard that so lightly? Was it you? Were you not enough for him? Why couldn’t he just talk to you about it? Was he laughing at you when he met with her? Together they sat in each other’s arms and laughed at your stupidity. Why bother keeping you around? The questions swirled through your head making you nauseous. Retrieving a glass of water and sitting on the couch, away from the man you still loved, you sat blindly in the dark of the house as you felt more of yourself slip away. Why couldn’t you just leave? Why were you letting him hurt you over and over again? A fresh wound every day, a fresh scar every time you knew he lied, and yet you stayed. Hoping? Hoping for what? That he would change? That he would stop? That you would stop loving him and start hating him?

You woke up on the couch with a gentle touch to your face. He was standing over you, his eyes glistening in the morning light as they ran up and down your body.  
“You are so beautiful.” He told you, a small smile ghosting his lips. Beautiful. You turned the word over in your head. Would he still think that if he could see the scars he was causing you on the inside?

“Why are you sleeping down here?” He asked shifting your legs to sit under them. You sat up, keeping your distance from him. Was now the time, was now the time that you told him everything that you knew to be true? That you knew what he was doing, you knew he didn’t love you anymore, that you couldn’t let him go, that you hated yourself for it, that you needed to leave? Was now the time that you showed him the scars on your heart? You felt the tear seep from your eye before you realised that you were crying.

“Love, what’s wrong?” He asked moving closer to you to wipe your face, but paused when he noticed you shrink away from him.

“I know.” You whispered, you voice cracking with its first use of the day.

“You know what?” He asked confusion spread across his beautiful features.

“I know.” You repeated your voice stronger this time. You sat in silence staring at him until his jaw dropped slightly as his brain caught up with your words.

“What do you know?” He asked cautiously.

You scoffed at him, he couldn’t be playing innocent; he couldn’t. There could only be one thing that you could be referring to. Surely the guilt was weighing on him somehow.

“What does our engagement mean to you?” You asked playing with the stunning diamond on your left hand.

“It means spending our lives together.” He answered quickly.

“Exclusively?” You asked removing the band from your finger.

“Yes of course exclusively.” He said, his tone laced with a hint of anger.

“Could you please tell HER that?” You said standing from the couch and putting the ring on the coffee table before walking past him to your bedroom.

He sat on the couch shocked, staring at the ring that you had placed in front of him.

You removed your sleeping clothes and dressed for the day, checking your appearance in the mirror, you looked fine aside from the water that was still leaking from your eyes. Opening the door you saw his hunched figure still sitting on the couch staring at the spot where you had left the ring. Your hand felt naked without it and your heart still ached for him, even after all the hurt. You closed the door behind you, picking up your car keys and bag, he jumped up when he heard the movement. You were surprised to see his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

“Please don’t leave.” He said quietly his ashamed gaze not quite meeting yours.

“I don’t have a reason to stay.” You sighed. He took a step towards you.

“I love you.” His voice was so sincere and your heart broke, how did he wield this much power over you? You knew, it was because you still loved him. Even with the lies, the cheating, the deception you still saw the boy that you fell in love with.

“Is that what you told yourself when you saw her? That I love my fiancé, so I should sleep with someone else.” The tears were still leaking and you were surprised at how you were managing to hold yourself together.

“You don’t understand.” He said feebly.

“You’re right. I don’t.” You shook your head at him and started to move towards the front door.

“Please.” His voice was begging. “You can’t leave.”

“I need time. Away. I can’t.” You could feel yourself starting to fall apart. Where was your strength now? “I can’t be here, around you.”

“You love me.” It wasn’t a question; it was a quiet statement that was laced with pain.

“That’s the problem though.” You turned to face him; you were now facing a defeated man. “I do love you, and what does that say about how much I love me?”

“Please.” He whispered as you opened the front door into the fresh morning.

Turning to close the door behind you, you saw what your insides were hiding, you saw a crumpled man on his knees, you saw the scars he inflicted on you as he ran his hands through his hair tugging at the roots, you saw the wounds of your heart as heavy sobs wracked through his body, you saw yourself, the crushed woman longing to comfort the crushed man that you so dearly loved as you closed the door on him.  
It had been a week since you’d seen him. You’d been living with a heavy heart for so long that it wasn’t disappearing. You didn’t feel liberated. You felt empty. He’d tried to call you a few times. You mistakenly answered the second time, only to feel your heart shatter when he started to speak. You quickly hung up the phone. You hadn’t heard his voice in so long. Your heart ached. Did he go running to her? Would he do that? How would you tell your friends and your family about the break up? You were so ashamed. You couldn’t even hold onto someone that was meant to love you. They would be so disappointed in you. You hadn’t spoken to anyone in that week. You didn’t know what you could possibly say to them. Why were you the one that felt guilty about this? You didn’t tear each other up. He did that. And yet the guilt weighed on your shoulders, crushing your chest till you couldn’t breathe. 

You doubted everything about yourself. Your emptiness turned to hatred against yourself. You weren’t enough for him; of course he would run off with someone else. You stopped eating and sleeping. Your appetite completely gone and the nightmares haunting your sleep. When you looked in the mirror you hated what you saw. The ghost of a girl, a shadow of you. Your hands were heavy on the front door that you had closed a week ago. You needed to confront the demon somehow, confront him and move on, you didn’t know what you were going to do. You still loved him and the hurt still ran deep in your blood stream. Sighing heavily you unlocked the door and pushed open the house that once held so many happy memories for you. The house looked as clean as the day you left it. You made your way to the kitchen. It looked as though no one lived here anymore. Entering the living room once more you saw your glass from the week before still on the coffee table where you left it. Your ring was gone. Making your way to the bedroom you pushed open the door slowly. The bed was made, the only sign that someone lived here was the fact that his side was slightly crumpled, as if he’d been sleeping on top of the sheets.

Pulling a suitcase from the top of your wardrobe you started to gather some of your clothes. You’d been staying at a hotel for the week and for the moment it was the best place for you. You couldn’t face the shame with anyone you knew. Not yet. You felt nauseous as you picked up the now full suitcase ready to drag it to your car. Your stomach dropped as you heard the front door slam shut. Was he home? Would he bring her here? There was no sign of another woman’s aurora in the house. Heavy footsteps echoed around the house as doors were wrenched open and slammed in response. You stood frozen in the middle on the bedroom waiting for him to open the final door, the final room where some of your best memories were made. The door handle turned and the door was thrown open. Hooded dark glistening eyes met yours, he paused in the doorway looking you up and down. He moved slightly as if to take you in his arms but thought better of it. Silence passed between you for what felt like ten years. You felt as if you’d aged that at least in the week just gone. 

He cleared his throat. You couldn’t speak. What would you say? I still love you? I forgive you? This is my fault? What were you meant to say to him? So instead you stood opposite each other, like strangers, frozen in time. You noted his eyes wandering over your thin frame and you crossed yours arms trying to shield yourself from his stare. His gaze shifted to the suitcase beside you and you saw a huff of breath leave his chest.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “Can we talk?” You nodded and he made his way slowly into the room sitting on the bed and looking at you expectantly to join him. Your feet were frozen, you couldn’t move. He used to walk with so much confidence, and now he walked hunched, his hair, once so perfectly groomed was not knotted, and you caught a whiff of him as he walked. What used to be laced with perfume now smelt only of him. You didn’t want to admit it, but it was the first fresh breath you had taken all week. He was not as put together as he seemed, as the house seemed. It was a mask. A mask you knew all too well, you’d been wearing one for a month.

He sat with his hands folded, elbows resting on his knees watching you, each movement slow and carefully considered as if around a wild animal or a small scared child. Still you couldn’t speak or move, your feet glued to the ground.

“Are you ok?” he asked carefully, again his eyes running over your body, taking in the bruises, the dark circles under your eyes, the hollows of your cheeks. You nodded unsure of what would come out of your mouth if you were to speak.

“I miss you.” It was almost a whisper, your feet finally became unstuck and you were able to face him fully. His eye cast to your feet as you moved, scared of making eye contact with you. You nodded again, not sure what you were trying to communicate to him. The inherent need to comfort him when your insides were fracturing, was taking over your body.

“Tell me why.” You cleared your throat, only breathe had come out when you tried to speak.

“Tell me why.” You repeated, your voice rough with lack of use.

He shook his head, defeated.

“I need to know why.” You pressed.

“I….” he paused looking up at you before casting his gaze down. “I honestly don’t know.” That was his only answer.

“Was it me?” You asked, the guilt and shame were clawing at your chest, constricting your lungs.

“No!” he nearly shouted. “No never ba-.” He stopped himself. “Never ever think that. You are perfect.”

“What was her name?” You asked. Your voice sounded faint, echoing in your ears.

“You don’t need to know that.” He whispered.

“What. Was her name?” you asked forcefully, a headache spreading across your eyes and blurring your vision.

“It was St-.” You didn’t hear anymore as darkness clouded your vision and you felt yourself falling, crumpling. You heard your name being shouted before you didn’t hear anymore.

\---

You were lying down, someone’s warm hand covering your own, you didn’t want to wake up, you didn’t want to open your eyes, you wanted to go back to that nothingness where you didn’t have to think, or listen, you didn’t have to feel. There was an unfamiliar beeping next to your head and a pinching in your left hand. Slowly you opened your eyes to hard light of a fluorescent above your head. Lifting your left hand you saw a cannula sticking out of it, turning your head to the right you saw him sitting beside you, his hand covering your own, his eyes red rimmed and leaking as he stared at your hand.

“Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” He whispered as tears dropped from his eyes to the white sheet of the bed. He looked up as the hospital door opened and a doctor strolled in.

“Ah you’re awake.” She announced looking at you. His eyes moved from the bed sheets your face, relief spreading across his furrowed brow. Carefully you removed your hand from his grasp and sat yourself up slightly.

“Gave us all a fright you did.” The doctors voice was loud in your sensitive ears, but she had a kind face and a warm smile.

“I want to ask you a few questions,” she said to you before continuing to him, “would you mind waiting outside?” He looked shocked, his jaw slack.

“I’m her fiancé.” He said indignantly.

“I don’t see a ring on her finger.” The doctor retorted.

He stuttered as he looked at your empty hand.

“Please sir if you could just wait outside.” She said again. He looked at you helplessly waiting for you to object, realising soon that you wouldn’t he placed a kiss against your forehead and slowly trudged out of the room. The doctor sat on the side of your bed before looking deeply into your eyes.

“Are you comfortable?” She asked, concern spread across her brow. You nodded quickly, still not sure where your voice had gone.

“I just want to ask you a few questions. Anything you say will not leave this room if you do not want it to. You are completely safe with me. Do you understand?” She asked her gaze staring forcefully into your eyes. You nodded again.

“I want you to tell me the last time you ate something?”

You shrugged, you honestly couldn’t remember.

“And drank something?” She continued.

“Water… a few days ago.” You voice croaked against your dry throat.

“Sleeping?”

“I don’t.” You answered shortly.

“You live with your fiancé?”

You shook your head.

“He says that you do…” she counted studying your face.

“Used you.” You muttered.

“You came in here with severe malnutrition, I’ve had fluids pumping into you for two days now and you’ve only just come to. What was the last thing you remember?”

“We were in the house. We were talking. I don’t know.” You brain hurt as you tried to think back. Had you really been out for two days?

“Did he hurt you?” She asked seriously.

“What? No. Not at all.” You replied shocked, “He would never.”

“Sweetheart you have bruises all over your body.”

“No, no, he wouldn’t ever hurt me. I promise you.” You were stunned, how could anyone ever think that about him?

“I just wanted to make sure. Malnutrition can often cause bruises, some around your arms look like finger marks.”

“That’s me.” You mumbled, “From the nightmares.”

“Ok love. Well we are going to keep you in here for a few more days, get your body working again. If at any time you don’t want him in here, you just let me know ok?” 

You nodded in response before she left the room and he came running back inside, straight back to the seat by your bed. You moved your hand so that he couldn’t hold it again; you craved the warmth of him but couldn’t bare the touch from him.

“I love you so much.” he whispered, tears once again falling and staining the pristine sheets. You couldn’t speak. You had nothing to say. 

“I thought I lost you forever. It’s been two days. Two days and they won’t tell me what’s wrong, they won’t tell me anything. It’s been hell. Please don’t leave me. Please never leave me, I can’t. I can’t live without you. You are everything. You are everything to me. I can’t. I can’t be without you.” His tears were flowing steadily down his cheeks as he spoke quickly, his breath coming in gasps. He took your hand quickly in his own, pressing his forehead against the join.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated in whispers as his body shook against the emotions. You needed to comfort him, you needed to run your fingers through his hair, hush him and tell him that everything was going to be ok, but you couldn’t, you didn’t know if it was going to be ok. You didn’t know if you could trust him again.

“Tell me everything.” You spoke at last as his body sobbed against your hands. “Go you have one chance, tell me everything.” He looked up at you, his eyes glistening with tears before he began.

He told you about the first time he saw you, he told you about how his heart stopped beating. He told you about your first date, the way that he spilled his wine all over his lap because he was so entranced with everything you said to him. He told you about how nervous he was when you had your first kiss. How your lips tasted like peaches that he thought that he had died and gone to heaven when your lips touched his. He told you about when he asked you to move in, his heart in his chest, always knowing that you were too good for him, that one day you would realise, that one day you would leave him. He told you about your first fight, how he hadn’t done the dishes, how he knew that it was only a matter of time before he sabotaged your relationship, it would only be so long until you woke up one day and realised that you deserved more. He told you about the first time you slept together, how he suddenly found his home and it was in you, your warmth and your comfort and still he knew that he was going to self sabotage this, that this was too good to be true. He told you about how he felt getting down on one knee and asking you to be with him forever, sure that you would laugh in his face and laugh at how stupid he was. He told you about how he couldn’t believe that you would say yes to him, that you would actually love him

And then he told about how he started to let you down. He didn’t do the dishes. He didn’t take out the rubbish. He didn’t come home on time. And he knew, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he woke up and the bed next to him would be empty. He told you about the guilt that would wrack his body when he would come home late and still you would be sitting there waiting for him, smiling and loving him and he knew that he had started to sabotage your relationship. He told you about the fight you had, that was completely his fault but he blamed you, he blamed you for loving him, he blamed you for being perfect, he blamed you for his short comings, so he left the house and went to a bar and that’s where he met her. He got too drunk, he was too consumed with you, and he left with her. He told you about how his left halfway through, how he hated himself, how you would know as soon as he came home. He told you about how you greeted him at the door, and you hugged him, how you apologised, how you loved him, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t break you like that. He told you about the countless times he screwed up and he ran to her, only to come home to you feeling more broken then before. He told you about how he became less careful, how he knew that you would find out one day, and he succeeded in sabotaging your relationship. He told you about the guilt that crushed his heart every time he looked at you. He told you about how meaningless it was. He told you about how he couldn’t bear to touch you, your purity, your innocence, he couldn’t taint you. He told you about calling it off with her, how she fought with him, how she threatened him, how she loved him. He told you about how she meant nothing to him, that getting rid of her finally helped him to see clearly. He told you about waking up to find you not in bed with him that day. How he knew it had finally come true. That you realised that you were too good for him. He told you about the relief of finding you on the couch, and how beautiful you looked in the morning sun. He told you about needing to tell you about her, but not wanting to hurt you and living with the guilt of what it would do to you.

He told you about how his stomach dropped and winded himself when you left, when he saw your heart breaking. He told you about the week without you there, about the nightmares that haunted him, the food that lost its taste. He told you about how he thought if he could just keep everything together, if he could keep the house clean, that you would come home and realise he’s not as terrible as you think, that he does love you, that he won’t sabotage your relationship. He told you how much he loves you, and he weeps, he weeps over the fact that he nearly lost you to death, and that was his fault, how he nearly lost you for good, and it was his fault. He told you about how she had come by the house, begging him, and he nearly gave in again, knowing that he would just screw things up again, but he fought it, he fought for you, hoping, praying that one day you would come back to him. That you would forget what an evil person he is, you would overlook the fact that you can do a thousand times better, that you deserved a thousand times better, but you would overlook all of that because he loves you.

He told you about watching you crumple before him, about watching the light leave your eyes. He told you about the phone call to the ambulance, about the car ride, about you not waking up, about seeing the bruises on your arms. He told you about the doctors asking him about you, if you were eating, if someone was hurting you. That all he could think was yes, yes, he was the one that was hurting you. That it would be better for him to set you free, to let you get away from him, but the thought of him losing you kills him. Then he tells you again and again how much he loves you. How you are the air he breathes, that he can’t lose you, that he loves you, again and again and again, he loves you.

You sit silent, listening to his words, words that warm you up with love and leave you cold the next moment. You can’t look at him yet, because if you do it will be your breaking point and you will cave and you will be his again but you will never trust him again and you will live in pain. You won’t go back to the way it was. There will always be a divide, but you will always act like you are fine, you will be lying to him, and so you stare straight ahead. He rests his head against your joined hands and he weeps. The doctor comes back to check on you and you say nothing. He had fallen asleep in the chair by your bed. He refused to leave and you appreciate him for that. As much as you want to hate him, you can’t and you need the company.

After two more days you are finally allowed to walk around the room and get your muscles moving again. He holds your hand, his arm around your waist as he supports you, and you can’t help but feel at home in his arms. You still can’t look into his eyes though, it is too painful. He leaves you only for an hour at a time to go home and shower and change, but he is immediately back. You fell asleep on your own, without the help of medication only once and the nightmares came back in full force. You wake up sobbing and shaking in his arms and you clung to his shirt and choked, no tears coming to your eyes. You were broken.

Eventually you were allowed to go home. Home. You had no idea where that was. You were surprised when he drove you back to the house. Was this still your home? You had nowhere else to go. He carried your bags into the house, clothes he had brought you while you were in the hospital before rushing back outside to help you walk, even though you could walk with ease now. He handles you like a china doll, that a sigh of wind would shatter you. You sat on the couch and he rushed around the house like a madman, making you tea, bringing you biscuits, blankets, cushions, anything. You smiled at him and your muscles stretched on your face, the stiffness feeling strange. Still you hadn’t said a word to him, not sure exactly what you would say.

Had you forgiven him? You wanted to say yes, but it would still be a long time before the deep gashes could heal. After two days on living on the couch you stood up and began to look at the photographs you had delicately and purposefully scattered around the house. They told the story of the two of you. From meeting as naive children, thinking that you had the world figured out, through to the purchase of your house, your engagement party, your family, so many smiles, so many memories. Did you, could you, would you throw that away? Hearing your movements he rushes into the room carrying a cup of tea and immediately trips over the coffee table and throwing lukewarm tea over the opposite wall. 

It starts out as a chuckle, and progresses into a giggle and soon you are laughing at his lanky frame tangled in the legs of the coffee table and the blankets on the couch. He slowly extracts himself as you laugh, and soon there are tears in your eyes, and you are laughing, but the crying overtakes the laughing and soon you are crying, soon you are a crumpled heap on the floor and you are sobbing. You realise that you haven’t really cried before now, and it comes in convulsing sobs. His arms are around you and you hold onto him for dear life, he is your gravity and you cry, you hear yourself saying words but you don’t know what they are. You make out “why” and “how” but mostly it is a strangles sound as your body gives up to the torment in your mind. He cries with you. The sky turns dark outside and still you sob, your body tired and aching until you can no longer cry.

Through the light of the streetlamp coming through your window you can see his silhouette. With tear stained cheeks and red swollen eyes you meet his gaze. You haven’t moved in hours.

“I love you.” You say your voice cracking.

“I love you.” He replies, his voice hoarse.

Slowly he leans down and captures your lips with his own, you don’t pull away, and you can’t. You are broken. You are in love. He is your warmth. You are hurt. But you love him.


End file.
